It's another beautiful day in New York, and I'm sitting in one of the few oases of comfort in the vulgar garment district - a Starbucks on the corner of 8th and 39th. I've just conducted another fruitless search for "quarter" socks in my size. It was so frustrating to go to Macys and see needless rack after unnecessary rack of size 6-12 and not a single pair in my size. I tried complaining to the sales assistant, but I only suceeded in getting hot under the collar. She looked at me as if I was a crazy person.

Of course, my hosiery problems aren't a hill of beans compared to Ben's problems in LA (see last journal). He finally went to see his friend in gaol today. He stood in line for over three hours in the scalding sun, along with poor people of every ethnicity but caucasian, only to find, when he reached the front of the line, that because of the nature of the crime his friend is accused of, visiting hours are on Sunday only. So he has to repeat the whole thing tomorrow.

You don't see this side of the criminal justice system on TV. We see emotional scenes where the two characters are separated by a plane of glass. We don't see the hell they put the visitors through, nor indeed the much worse hell that unconvicted people go through. Ben's friend hasn't even been allowed a toothbrush in four days. It seems so wrong; what happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Ben sent me a text message as he stood in line. It was so sad. He said he didn't want to break down and cry in front of all these people. I think it must have been the bleakest moment in his life. Right after that, I finally decided I'd fly down there. So later, after he'd come back from his wasted visit to the gaol, I called him to try to persuade him that I should come. But he wouldn't let me. I didn't want to force myself on him, so I agreed not to go. But it was extremely painful to hear the heart break in his voice and to be unable to do anything to make him feel better.

If it hadn't been for my worries over Ben, I'd have had an enjoyable day. I met Phoenix, who's become one of my best friends, at his gym in Chelsea for a long workout. And then I met T, a fashion designer from Korea whom I've long had a plan to meet. We met originally online in a dating context, before I fell in love with Ben, but for one reason or another never got to meet for real until now. I'd told him all about Ben, but since we'd talked on the phone, and established a rapport, I thought it would be nice to meet him and maybe get to know a new friend in New York. I didn't tell Ben about it because I know how I'd feel if the story was reversed - jealous. T and I hit it off over brunch, then walked down to the Hudson River Park, my favorite place in the city.

As we walked and talked, T was extremely complimentary about my looks, to the point where I was blushing. I've had so much attention and complimentary feedback in the past few weeks; it's enough to go to your head. Sometimes I see men who obviously consider themselves very goodlooking, and they seem so full of themselves. I hope I never behave like that. I don't think I ever will, because I never fully believe the compliments. If you grow up an awkward, skinny kid, you always remain that awkward, skinny kid deep inside.

Okay, time to go to my last ditch effort to find those socks - the New Balance store on 42nd Street. I feel a little bad about dwelling on such small subjects when Ben is going through hell. But the human mind is capable of simultaneously entertaining a great number of feelings: from the great tenderness I'm feeling for Ben, to the frustration of being shut out of the American dream of neverending sock choices. It's all one big stew.

Stunning early evening light hitting the buildings around my hotel

Sun, Aug 8, 2004, 5:46 PM

On Saturday night, Phoenix and I went to see the surprisingly good, gripping thriller "Collateral" and then went for a drink at Therapy, on 52nd Street. We only had one cocktail each (and I spilled a third of mine on Phoenix's arm), but we both got quite merry. The music was good, and we both had the idea it would be fun to go out dancing, despite my usual plans to not go clubbing so that I could do museums on Sunday. I felt a bit guilty at the idea of going without Ben, particularly because of what he's going through right now. Fortunately, I wasn't put to the test, because Phoenix changed his mind and decided he didn't want to go. So by one, I was back at the hotel, where I wrote to Ben by email (since he'd already gone to sleep).

In the sculpture court on top of the Metropolitan Museum

I've been sleeping very badly since arriving in New York, and last night was no exception. I finally got up around eight o'clock, after giving up on the idea of trying to get more sleep. For somebody who's deliriously happy in love, I'm sad and down a lot. And I don't always know why. I started off this morning in a wonderful mood, despite my knowledge that Ben was, at that moment, in line for the gaol once again. The weather was simply gorgeous, and I thirsted for a run in Central Park. It was my first run in at least two weeks, because I'm trying to gain weight not lose it, so it was unexpectedly taxing. But it was impossible, after that, not to be in a sparkling mood. But by the time I'd finished brunch at a deli on 7th Avenue, my mood has just as suddenly decompressed. And as I looked round some of the exhibitions at the Metropolitan Museum in the early afternoon, I found myself feeling a strange, poignant sadness at every work of beauty. I know it was a feeling all wrapped up with how I feel about Ben, compounded with sympathy for his current plight; but I couldn't disentangle the separate strands. It feels a lot like the sadness that comes with the knowledge that one day I'll loose Ben. Lord, am I fucked up or what. I hope I can stop feeling this way so regularly.